When I am a teen, I am walking down the street, enjoying the summer sun, and sipping from a Gatorade bottle that I brought from my house. Set up in a parking lot along the street is a taco truck. I haven’t come within fifty feet of the truck.

A vendor leans out of the side of the truck and points at me.

Vendor: “Hey! Hey, you need to pay for that!”

Me: “Huh?”

Vendor: “You need to pay for that bottle!”

I shook my head at this and kept walking, but the guy actually climbed out of the truck and started chasing me. I ended up booking it down the street and outpacing him, but it was still one of the scariest events of my life at that point, and I ended up avoiding that stretch of street for a couple of years afterward.

I work in a bakery, helping customers place orders for cakes and other baked goods. One dark day, I answer the phone to this:

Customer: “I need to order a cake.”

The customer provides contact information and describes the type of cake.

Me: “Would you like a message written on it?”

Customer: “Yes, I’d like, ‘Happy Birthday [Name #1] and [Name #2].’ But instead of ‘and,’ could you use an ampersand?”

Me: “An… ampersand?”

Customer: “The symbol for ‘and.’”

I’ve never heard the term before, but of course, I am familiar with what he is talking about.

Me: “Oh, do you mean the one that looks like a treble clef?”

Customer: “No! It’s the backward three with a line through it! You know what? Next time, why don’t you find someone with a higher level of education to take my cake order?”

The customer hangs up. I stare at the phone and then go into the office and tell my coworkers on break what happened. Halfway through the story, one of them bolts straight up in her chair.

Coworker: “I KNOW THAT GUY! HE’S AN A**HOLE!”

I later discovered that I was in the right: the ampersand refers to the symbol that resembles a treble clef.

I am walking out of the cash office to put my cash drawer in the register. I have to recount it in front of a manager before I start my shift to make sure I have my required float. My cash light is off, signaling I’m not ready to accept customers yet.

A woman walks up with her young daughter — maybe ten — and places a greeting card on the belt.

Me: “I’m sorry, miss, I’m not ready to accept customers yet, as I have to still count my drawer. Cash #1 would be happy to help you.”

Mother: *To her daughter* “Now, honey, we have to go stand at the end of the line behind everyone. Now we’re last because this lady should have been ready to take us. We’re going to be late for Granny’s birthday because of this lady.”

Me: “I do apologize, miss. It should only take me a minute if you would rather wait?”

Mother: “No, it’s fine. You have just provided my daughter with a good lesson. When an employee is at work, they should be ready to serve at all times. Now you have shown her that stupid people like you are what’s wrong with the world, and you can’t do anything about stupid people making you late for things.”

The mother and daughter walk off into my coworker’s line — one customer deep — and huff and puff while I count my drawer. I hear the mother complain to my coworker about how I’m slow and should really have been ready to serve her immediately.

Coworker: “We are all required to count our drawers and enter it into the system before taking on any customers, and her shift hasn’t even started yet, so she is well within company policy to make sure everything adds up before taking on any customers.”

The mother has been served and starts heading past my register. She stops and says to her daughter:

Mother: “When Granny gets upset that we’re late, we can come back and thank this lady for ruining everything.”

Just as she has finished berating me, I am done counting and flip my cash light on and ask to take the next customer in line.

Daughter: *To her mother* “See mommy? She’s open now. Didn’t Granny say, ‘If you don’t have anything nice to say, don’t say anything at all, to you when you were a little girl like me? You called that lady stupid and I think she’s smart.”

The mother turned beet red and hurried out the door.

Related:
In Line And Out Of Line, Part 17

A customer of ours who we hardly ever hear from, who is about seventy years old, gives us a call.

Me: “[Insurance Company], this is [My Name]; how may I help you?”

Customer: “Hi, this is [Customer]. I was in the hospital recently and I am now in rehab. I know a while back someone told me that [Granddaughter] is not allowed to drive my car. She has her own insurance and lives elsewhere but is driving me occasionally now since I am unable to drive while in rehab. Is that right?”

Me: “Hmm, well, I see that she is listed in the household but is not assigned to your car. Let me double-check with a team member and I will get back to you within a few minutes, is that okay?”

Customer: *A little miffed* “All right, that’s fine.”

I find a note from two years ago that the customer did, in fact, sign a form that means the granddaughter is not allowed to drive her car due to her terrible driving record. This also means that in the event of a claim where the granddaughter happens to be the driver, our company could deny coverage.

Me: “Hello, [Customer]? This is [My Name] from [Insurance Company] again. I did some research, and back in September of 2011, you signed a form that prevents us from assigning [Granddaughter] to your car. But, that doesn’t mean she can’t drive you around in her own vehicle.”

Customer: “What? That’s not what I asked! Why does her car have anything to do with my insurance?!”

Me: “I’m sorry, ma’am. I am not saying that her car is insured here; I am just saying that if she has to drive you in her car, that is perfectly fine. But if she drives you in your car, then there could be a denial in coverage if something were to happen because you signed that form two years ago.”

Customer: “All you had to do was tell me that she still isn’t allowed to drive my car. You didn’t have to go into when I signed something and stuff about her car.”

Me: “O-okay, ma’am. Well, you were correct; she is still not allowed to drive your car.”

Customer: *Huffs* “Thank you.”

Me: “You’re welcome, goodbye—”

Customers: *Muffles* “Stupid b****.” *Hangs up”

I guess sometimes it’s best not to go into greater detail?

I’m a barista at a well-known coffee chain. There is a city ordinance to have a mask on when coming within six feet of any individual outside of your household, and businesses are allowed to require that people wear masks when entering the store. My shop happens to be the only one in our district allowing people inside the store rather than putting their coffee outside for them to pick up, so the whole mask thing has been a hassle. 

I’ve been screamed at for telling people they can’t come inside, but this interaction takes the cake. 

A regular comes in, who is an a**hole anyway, mind you, and I stop him before he takes more steps into the store.

Me: *Politely* “Sir, you are required to wear a mask if we are going to be serving you.” 

Customer: “What do you mean, I have to wear a mask? How dare you require me to wear a mask?!” 

Me: “Sir, it’s an ordinance from the city, as well as corporate policy. I can’t do anything about it besides follow both.”

Customer: “Well, what if I refuse to wear one?”

Me: “Then I have to refuse you service.” 

Customer: “F*** this, man! It’s all a hoax, anyway. You know that, right? Just a scare tactic for the election.” 

Me: “Sir, if you don’t calm down, I will be forced to ask you to leave.”

He turned around and left the store — out the wrong door — and went to our trash can that was positioned out front. He then reached inside and pulled out a disposable facemask that had clearly been used before and put it on his face before marching back into the store.

He’s come in nearly every day since with that same mask, and it’s taken every ounce of willpower not to gag every time I see him.